"What did you do?" Kara asked, not wanting to picture what they must have seen through their binoculars.
"We jumped out of the tree house. We ran and ran and ran." Lillian looked up, breathless now, the words tumbling out on top of each other. "I dropped my pair of binoculars—they have a pink ribbon tied to them. But Henry said never mind, leave them, and I just ran so hard—we wanted to save him."
"But you couldn't," Kara said gently. "You had too far to go."
"He was already dead." Henry's tone was clipped, as if none of this really mattered to him. Denial, Kara suspected. Bravado. A child's uncertain grasp of death. "We couldn't do anything to help him. I told Lil."
Kara leaned against the sink, feeling more than queasy now. She was sick to her stomach at the thought of what these kids had witnessed, the helplessness and terror they must have felt. The awful grief.
"How far did you get before you turned around?" she asked.
"Almost to the fence around the pool." Henry continued in that flat, matter-of-fact voice. "The fence by the deep end is a few feet in the woods. We saw the state troopers yelling into radios—one of the troopers jumped in the pool."
"I was scared," Lillian said. "I threw up."
Kara could see it now, two children charging through the woods to help their friend, then realizing he was dead, a governor was dead, and the situation was way over their heads. "So you left," she said. "You didn't say anything to the bodyguards."
Henry nodded. "We went back to our tree house."
Lillian sniffed, suddenly indignant. "My binoculars were gone. Somebody stole them! Henry says they're probably under the leaves and I looked in the wrong place, but I know somebody took them. Don't you think so, Aunt Kara?"
She dodged Lillian's question. "Do you each have your own pair of binoculars?"
"They're old ones Grandma gave to us," Henry said dismissively. "I left mine in the tree house."
"Did you go back up into the tree house after you got back?"
"No. We ran all the way back to Grandma's house. We were going to tell her and Mom what we saw, but the police were there, taking Mom to be sworn in. So we didn't say anything." He shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed, yawning as if he couldn't stand up another second. He dropped his hands, lifting his shoulders and letting them fall in a world-weary shrug. "We couldn't do anything that'd bring Big Mike back."
Kara rubbed his bony shoulder. "You heard he couldn't swim, right?"
Henry nodded without looking at her, and Lillian said, "We know it wasn't our fault, Aunt Kara, but if we could have saved him…" She trailed off, rising unsteadily. "Will we have to tell the police what we saw?"
"You should," Kara said. "It might not seem like it to you, but you could have information they don't have right now, something that could help them understand what happened to Big Mike."
"Do they still believe it was an accident?" Henry asked.
Something in his voice—indefinable but unmistak-able—gave her goose bumps. "As far as I know, yes. Henry, do you have any reason to believe what happened to Big Mike wasn't an accident?"
He yawned, his tonsils showing. "I'm tired." He turned to his sister. "Flip you for the big room."
"No, I want it!"
They scrambled out of the kitchen, pounding upstairs to see who could claim the big room first, yelling at each other as if they'd just been discussing Ben & Jerry's flavors instead of the horror of witnessing Big Mike's death.
Kara dismissed the twinge in her stomach as nerves. She had a right.
Henry and Lillian had left her with the dirty dishes. She cleared the table, laying the dishes in the sink, squirting in detergent. A refreshing breeze floated through the open window. She could smell the clean, cool night air.
Those kids still hadn't told her the whole story. They'd seen something else that day in their tree house.
Their mother was coming in the morning. Allyson could look after her children and deal with their fears, get them to tell her what they saw and try to understand it. Kara could go home to Texas and see how far she'd get explaining this mess to Jack and Sam before one or the other clapped cuffs on her.
The idea of Sam putting her in cuffs made her smile. She didn't know why. Probably exhaustion. But it was better than thinking about her godchildren up in their tree house with their binoculars, and she focused on an image of Sam as she did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.
Nine
Kara's cell phone rang twenty minutes after she sent the kids up to bed. She didn't want to answer it. She'd collapsed on the couch in the cottage-style living room, decorated in soothing shades of blue and white that somehow failed to soothe her. As tired as she was, she knew she couldn't sleep. She was too wired, too preoccupied, her mind racing.
She couldn't imagine anyone calling her tonight for a reason she'd like. But she hit the answer button, and even to her own ear, her greeting was raspy and weak, betraying her fatigue.
Not that Sam Temple gave a damn. "Fair warning. I'm five minutes from Stonebrook Cottage and unarmed. Don't shoot."
"Sam, you're what—"
He'd disconnected.
Kara flung the phone onto the couch cushion. How had he found her? Who'd given him directions? Stone-brook Cottage wasn't on any map, even one of Bluefield.
It didn't matter. He was coming.
She ran upstairs. Lillian was already asleep, her Harry Potter book open to the first page next to her on the double bed. Across the hall, Henry was wide awake in the room with the twin beds. Kara tried not to let her agitation show, but she had to warn him. "Hey, Henry, don't worry if you hear a car drive up in a few minutes. The Texas Ranger from last night is on his way. We're friends." That was a stretch, but no way could she explain the complexities of her relationship with Sam to a twelve-year-old. "It's okay. I'll handle him."
He sat up on his elbows. "Aunt Kara, remember your promise—you can't tell anyone—"
"I won't. What you told me last night is privileged."
"What about the tree house? That's privileged, too, isn't it?"
"Yes. I'm treating everything you told me as privileged. All of it." Reassured, he sank back onto his pillow, and Kara kissed him on the forehead. "You'll tell Lillian if she wakes up?"
He nodded, his big eyes shining in the dark room. Outside his window, the three-quarter moon glowed, as if solely on him.
Kara slipped back downstairs and waited outside on the stone step. The uneven granite hadn't yet given up the warmth it had absorbed during the day, and she could feel it on her bare feet. An owl hooted intermittently somewhere in the woods and across the dirt road, the brook gurgled as it tumbled over rocks. She'd never wanted this much country on a permanent basis, but weekends here had been a pleasant respite from her grueling job in Hartford. Even so, work and the occasional break from work weren't enough—she'd needed more balance in her life. Home always beckoned. Texas. Yet, here she was, back up north again.
And the balance she was looking for remained elusive in Austin, too. Maybe George Carter was right and it was a simple case of putting in too many hours for too long without a break.
Headlights approached around a bend in the dirt road, and although she was expecting them, Kara jumped, seized by anticipation, even dread, at her inevitable confrontation with Sam. The lights of his car seemed brighter, more intrusive, against the unmarred night. He pulled in behind her rented car, a deliberate move, she suspected, to impede any predawn escapes on her part. He'd underestimated her last night, and she'd taken off on him. If he'd had any clue she'd bolt, he'd have sat outside her house and dared her to make a move.
Well, she'd have thought of something.
He got out of his car and shut the door, his tall figure casting a long shadow on the moonlit yard. He carried a bag over one shoulder and took his time walking up to the front door, until he finally placed one foot on the stone step and met her gaze without smiling. "Evening, Miss Kara."
He set his sl
ouchy leather bag on the step next to him. He had on cowboy boots, jeans and a soft-look-ing chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He wore an expensive sports watch. No Texas Ranger badge, no white cowboy hat. No gun. She didn't know what part of his visit was business and what was personal, but supposed she'd find out.
She nodded at him. "It's a beautiful evening, isn't it? A lot cooler than Austin. You didn't have to come after me, you know."
"I wouldn't be telling me what I have to do and don't have to do." His tone was very controlled, but his black eyes were hot, warning her he wasn't so controlled inside. "Jim Haviland and Davey Ahearn in Somerville gave me basic directions. Then I talked to Jack. He remembered visiting you out here once about five or six years ago."
"You could have called me. I'd have given you directions."
"To where?"
"Sam—"
"Hatch Corrigan told Jack you have the Stockwell children here and have been in touch with their mother."
"That's true. It's complicated—"
"Jack says everyone up here's satisfied."
"But you're not," Kara said.
His black eyes bored straight through her. "You made the mistake of committing all your crimes in Texas."
"I didn't commit any crimes."
"Kidnapping, grand larceny, breaking and entering, unlawful possession of a weapon—that's just off the top of my head."
"Give it up, Sam. You're not arresting me for anything."
"Your brother doesn't know about his gun."
"You didn't tell him?"
He let his gaze settle on her, his mouth a thin, uncompromising line. "No."
"There, you see? You're on my side. You're all bark and no bite or you'd have told him—"
"I suggested he talk to his wife."
"Well, guess what? I'm not scared of either one of you. Are you coming inside, or are you going to wait for the mosquitoes to find you?" She pushed open the door and motioned broadly with one hand, refusing to acknowledge her heightened state of anticipation, excitement. The man did not have a calming effect on her. "After you, Sergeant. I assume Susanna put you up to chasing after me?"
"She was worried about you."
"I was worried about me, too. It's been a hell of a twenty-four hours."
He eased his bag over his shoulder and walked past her into the living room, and Kara noticed the narrowness of his hips, remembered the way he'd strode into her house two weeks ago, how she'd known they'd end up in bed. It had seemed inevitable, and she'd wanted it to happen.
She followed him into the living room, letting the door shut softly behind her. "The kids are in bed." She decided a less confrontational approach might be in order. Sam had a right to be grouchy considering he was here instead of in Texas. "They're very special to me, so if I've acted a little nutty, I hope you'll take that into account."
He didn't relent. "Susanna thinks it's because of what happened between us."
"She called you on the carpet, didn't she? Well, she's wrong. It's not."
"Kara, if I hurt you—"
"You didn't."
"I don't mean just emotionally. I hadn't realized—"
He hadn't realized how inexperienced she was. Damn. But she pretended not to hear him, the only defense she could think of right now. "Let's not talk about something we can't undo. You've done your duty. You found me. I'm safe, the kids are safe. All's well that ends well, right? It's not that far back to Hartford. You can get a room at the airport and catch an early flight back to San Antonio. On me."
"Not a chance."
She hadn't really thought there would be.
He eased his bag onto the wide plank floor with its blue-and-white hooked rug. "I want to know why the hell you pulled this stunt."
"I can't tell you. Attorney-client privilege."
"Those kids aren't your clients. You'd need a court to appoint you, or their mother's permission. You didn't have time for a court, and Allyson Stockwell didn't even know where they were."
"Formation of the attorney-client relationship is technically privileged as well—"
He scoffed. "Lawyer talk. These are your godchildren, Kara. Why don't you just use common sense?"
She managed a self-deprecating smile. "Too late for that. You really aren't leaving, are you?"
"No, ma'am."
"All right. Henry's in the only room with two beds, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to sleep up there until you've met—"
"We all could have had popcorn together last night."
Kara ignored him, a near-impossible task. He seemed to fill up the room with his intensity, his confidence, his experience as one of Texas's elite law enforcement officers. She'd had this same reaction when they'd gone for coffee, even as she was still reeling with the news of Mike Parisi's death. Sam exuded unbridled masculine sexuality, and it had taken very little time or effort to get her into bed with him.
Maybe they'd both been a touch out of their heads that night.
"You can stay in the bedroom down here," she said briskly. "I tossed my things in there, but that's okay— I'll sleep out here on the couch."
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Fine with me. I've had a hell of a long day. I could use a bed." She noticed the muscles in his forearms, the dark, tanned skin as he hoisted his bag higher onto his shoulder. "If you don't want to sleep out here, just come on in." He winked, a twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "I'll make room for you."
"That wouldn't be a good idea."
"That's not a flat-out no. Duly noted for the future." He nodded at her. "You're done in, Miss Kara. We'll take it from here in the morning. I can find my way to the bedroom."
He headed into the adjoining kitchen, and Kara dropped onto the couch, relieved he hadn't argued over sleeping arrangements. She wondered if she should give him more credit. He must have realized she'd been in a difficult position and had put a lot on the line for her troubled, conniving godchildren, that it wasn't easy for her to be back in Connecticut with Big Mike gone. Sam might go back into bad-cop interrogation mode in the morning, but for now he was letting her off the hook, and she was grateful.
She remembered her brother's .45 and bolted up straight. The hell Sam was letting her off the hook! If there was a gun in the house, he'd want control of it. He'd search her bag and anything else he could find. Now that he was in another state on personal business, he wouldn't give a damn if she threatened him with needing a search warrant to touch anything of hers. He'd just plow right in.
"Wait!"
She charged through the kitchen and into the short hall that led to the bedroom and bathroom, pushing past him into the bedroom and straight to her suitcase at the foot of the bed. If he searched her suitcase for the gun, he'd also find her home pregnancy test kits. Then she'd really be sunk. She'd shoved them in there thinking they'd be accessible but not as in-her-face as in her tote bag, reminding her every time she fished for her wallet or lipstick that she'd done something that made pregnancy not out of the question. And it involved Sam Temple.
"I need my things in case you sleep late in the morning," she said. "I'm a crack-of-dawn type."
He leaned against the doorway. "I remember."
He wasn't making this easy on her, but he had no reason to. Kara scooped up her suitcase, hugging it close to her chest. She was walking a thousand fine lines. She was bound to slip up sooner or later.
"Nice try, Miss Kara, but I want the gun."
Good, she thought. Let him think her panic was over him knowing she had her brother's Colt. "I dismantled it and packed it separate from the ammunition. I haven't touched it since I got here. No prosecutor would bother going after me on a weapon's charge—"
"Maybe not in Connecticut. Wait until I tell a Texas prosecutor you stole a gun from a Texas Ranger."
"Jack'll back me up."
"Not if you don't give me the damn gun he won't."
"I know how to shoot."
His dark eyes flashed.
"This is supposed to reassure me?"
"Sam, for God's sake," she said lamely, realizing if she gave in too easily, he'd wonder what else she was hiding. She wasn't about to unload her suitcase item by item for him.
He put out a hand. "The .45, Kara. If it's in my possession, I can show my badge and fall back on professional courtesy. You can't. I'm doing you a favor."
He had a point. Technically, a law enforcement officer who traveled to another state had to follow local gun laws just like everyone else. Sam's jurisdiction was Texas. He wasn't a Texas Ranger anywhere else. If he didn't have a permit to carry a weapon in Connecticut and he wasn't there on official business, he was violating the law. However, local cops would often look the other way if they caught a fellow law enforcement officer discreetly carrying a weapon, provided he or she didn't do anything improper—like fire the thing.
The local cops wouldn't look the other way with Kara. If they were back in Texas, Sam wouldn't look the other way, either.
He was doing her a favor.
"It's not as if anyone's going to catch me with an illegal gun in my suitcase," she said.
"I caught you."
She set the suitcase on top of an old quilt folded at the foot of the bed and unzipped it carefully, trying to remember where the pistol parts were in relation to her pregnancy test kits. Sam watched from the doorway as she felt around inside the suitcase, finding the slide first and easing it out. She set it on the bed and then had to dig under one of the kits for the .45's frame and spring, grabbing the mesh holster while she was at it. She nonchalantly shoved the pregnancy kits deeper into the suitcase, in case she ran into a similar problem before she could send Sam on his way.
She rezipped the suitcase, realizing beads of sweat had erupted on her brow as if she were some sort of criminal, and handed over the gun parts and holster. Sam popped the .45 together with a speed and efficiency that reminded her of what his work was.
"The mag," he said.
"You know, Jack would never arrest me—"
"He doesn't have to. Step foot in Texas with this on you and you're mine."
Stonebrook Cottage Page 11
